were at the beginning of their careers. It’s not like they had all the power they have—had—today. So, why didn’t the councils stop them, or at least pressure Branson to tone it down?”
“Maybe they were flying under the radar,” Sailor suggested. “Sometimes these cult films come out of nowhere and no one expects them to be any kind of success, and then suddenly they take off.” She looked wistful. “It’s what everyone always hopes for. Kind of like winning the lottery.”
“Why do you care who was behind it?” Rhiannon probed.
Barrie frowned. “Harvey Hodge said that Mayo was planning to remake Otherworld.”
“You’re kidding!” Sailor gasped. “I never heard that.”
Barrie pointed at her. “Now, see—you hadn’t heard, either. And the way you pore over the gossip rags—”
“Hey!” her cousin huffed.
“I mean, with your vast insider knowledge of the entertainment industry...” Barrie amended. Sailor looked slightly mollified. “Even you hadn’t heard. So, only really connected people—I mean, the most connected people—knew about the remake. And whoever those people are, some of them weren’t happy about it. At least according to Harvey.”
“Harvey’s dirt is usually gold,” Sailor admitted.
The cousins all nodded agreement.
“So, what are you thinking, Barrie?” Rhiannon prodded.
Barrie looked at her cousins and gathered her thoughts. “I’m thinking there’s a lot of death and destruction associated with this movie. And then, before a remake is even officially in the works, we’ve got two deaths potentially associated with it. So, I’m thinking I’m looking for someone who was associated with the first movie and, for whatever reason, doesn’t want a remake made. Who didn’t want it enough to kill over it.”
Her cousins nodded thoughtfully, then more excitedly.
“I think you’re on to something, Rosalind Barrymore,” Rhiannon said, and for a moment Barrie heard her father in her cousin’s voice.
“So, now what?” Sailor asked.
“So, now I have to find out what really happened during that movie,” Barrie said, resolved.
“Wow,” Sailor said in a hushed voice. “Maybe you can figure out what really happened to Johnny Love.”
“And Robbie Anderson,” Barrie said, and suddenly realized she was about to investigate one of the great mysteries of her childhood.
“And DJ,” Rhiannon added, and both cousins looked at her. “He didn’t come out of all that unscathed,” she pointed out. “Yeah, he’s a star, but did he ever really have a life after the film?”
The other cousins nodded solemnly.
“Maybe it is a cursed film,” Barrie said uneasily.
A silence fell over the candlelit room, suddenly broken by the pop of a log bursting in the fire. All three cousins jumped...and then burst into laughter.
Barrie turned serious again. “The problem is going to be getting close to anyone connected with the film.”
“You know the Pack had their own band...” Rhiannon said reflectively.
“Who could forget?” Sailor started to sing. “‘I’ll follow you to death’s door...meet you on that final shore...’”
As if superstardom in the film arena hadn’t been enough, the three young actors had been packaged into a boy band. They’d recorded a couple of numbers for the film and then, as had been popular for movie stars to do in the nineties, they’d even done some gigs in L.A. and on the road.
Sailor pointed at Rhiannon. “You had a poster up in your room.”
“Guilty as charged,” Rhiannon admitted. “Hey, they were the best eye candy any of us had ever seen. But they did a few gigs in L.A., remember? We couldn’t get in because the shows were all in bars, no one under eighteen admitted, but...”
Sailor and Barrie both caught Rhiannon’s drift in the same instant. “Declan would know them,” Sailor said. Her fiancé owned the underground club known as the Snake Pit and was highly connected in the music scene.
“I don’t know if even Declan could get me in to see DJ,” Barrie said morosely.
“You never know,” Sailor said.
“Do you still have that poster?” Barrie asked Rhiannon with a quickening interest.
Rhiannon shrugged. “It’s probably up in the attic, along with the whole rest of our childhoods. You know how Merlin is about holding on to things.”
Fueled by wine and their own nostalgia, the cousins trooped up the staircase, then up a narrower, rarely used set of stairs to the attic.
Barrie fumbled against the wall for a switch and flicked on the lights. Typical Merlin, the fixtures were designed to look like candelabra, flickering and all, which gave the attic an otherworldly glow. It had a high, sloped roof and dusty floorboards and an amazing collection of junk—or treasure, depending on your point of view.
The cousins turned, looking over the remnants